


Repetition

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (but just a smidge), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crying, Grinding, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot, oops this came out im sorry, optional springles, really short actually, stress writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had their peaks like this, each and every time the same as before, but if repetition is what keeps you stable, it is what you have to keep up with.</p><p>Yet, sometimes repetition hurt people more than it did them good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repetition

It was the second fight they have had this week, the seventh this month, and the only difference in this one was the fact that Jean had not stepped out yet. Sometimes for just a cigarette, a long walk, or even one that did not have him returning. More often than not, Marco was beginning to notice, the days began to end with lonely nights and cold, cold sheets. Sasha and Connie now had a space in their closet just for his supplies and Jean tried to ignore the new, ever changing box of tissues that now resided next to what used to be their bed.

Sometimes, when he came home, Jean would notice the dishes were cleaned, put away, even if it was not that time of the week, but he had learned to leave the matter alone. If that was what Marco needed to help with the stress, so be it. He did not comment on Jean’s smoking anymore, so Jean could let him have his breathing. The house was often spotless, a new scenery that made both boys consciously uncomfortable, even if they did not bring it up. It was not natural, for Marco to have this much time on his hands, cooking meals instead of lounging around on the couch, as if attempting to be the better boyfriend that he already was to Jean, the one that Jean needed to step up to be. Still, Jean knew that was not what it was. He knew that it was Marco, who could tell that Jean would no longer snuggle on the couch, with all the cushions after putting away his brushes, so of course Marco had to find a new thing to do in the afternoons, even if that meant finding a thing that is usually done alone. That is what hurt Jean more than he thought he could bear.

But he bore it. He wore it well, like a favorite necklace. One that his most loving boyfriend had gotten him.

They did not utter the three words in that apartment anymore. It was a taboo phrase that only shoved the wedge between them down a little further.

Well, that was, aside from the days when the tension was strung too tight to think they could hold together anymore. The days that they both thought to themselves, almost in unison, _“This is it, isn’t it?”_

It was one of those days again.

There is not many things that hurt Marco more than seeing Jean’s back to him, in a pose that showed he could not look it his face, see his expression, could not allow Marco to see his own. It told Marco he loved him just as much to save him the pain, but with his hand on the door knob, it would not matter whatever he did. He would just leave again. Tonight he would not come back, Marco knew, but that did not stop him from uttering out the words that he was always the first to say. “I love you, Jean. So much.”

There never came a point when Jean would call him a liar. He did not need to, he knew Marco was an honest man- an honest man that still loved him, despite what they were going through. Yet, those words made him shiver, just as if they were a lie, a frozen knife sliding down his back before pressing in to mark the wound. He was quiet before choosing his words, careful to make them count. Marco would know what he wanted, what he needed. He always did. Under his breath, he spoke them, his hand slipped from the silver extrude. “Then show me how much you love me.”

Biting his lip, Marco considered those eight words. They did not set his cheeks ablaze, like they would months ago, had they not been in this situation, this juvenile grapple of words and assumptions. Though, months ago, Jean would have said them with a much more confident tone, one that left lingers of icy ripples in his skin, but in a different way, not this one, that instead left Marco wondering if Jean’s tone has ever been that broken.

It hurts.

It was a minute or maybe two of deep, calculated breathing before Marco reacted, wondering if the boundary they never used to have was down and that he could reach out to Jean, if it was safe to, that he would not flinch away as if his boyfriend was just a simple fly. A pest. It was Jean who made the first move. With a deep intake of breath as if he had realized something, his hand shot out for the exit, only to be halted by a freckled one, yanking him back into a strong chest, one that was too toned to be from a writer’s.

 _Has he been working out?_ Jean asked himself, old and left over tears still making his golden amber orbs glossy. How could he not notice? 

There was many reasons. 

Jean sniffed again, Marco’s strong arms less wrapping, more clinging to Jean’s skinnier frame. They swayed to whatever tune Marco had in his mind, humming quietly, but just loud enough to fill the silence of the barren wasteland they somehow still called home. His droning was not perfect, little breaks of hiccups every once in a while that made Jean gasp quietly to himself, chest tightening disagreeably. 

This… This was comfortable. It was warm, the ice between them melting, even if it was going to freeze right up again, this was a moment they could have to pause, to settle down for a moment and prepare for what was yet to come right back. It was a time to appreciate each other before the arguments came back, heavy and tough as ever. They had their peaks like this, each and every time the same as before, but if repetition is what keeps you stable, it is what you have to keep up with. 

Burying his onyx hair in the crook between Jean’s shoulder and neck, Marco kissed the bare skin there, unable to hold back the small grin that came when he received a muffled squeak in response. He began to move his lips along Jean’s nape, mood brightening even more so when the two-toned male tilted his head away to give him more access, trust coming back in a natural movement. Large, warm hands moved sensually along Jean’s lithe sides, resting on his hips, thumbs delving into the waistband and pushing it down just centimeters. He took pride in the babble of equal amounts surprise and enjoyment. 

It had been so long, too long. It was worse that neither boy could even think of anyone else when this had all happened, the only relief they could get was when the temple of turmoil came tumbling down before they had to rebuild it once more. 

Yet, sometimes repetition hurt people more than it did them good.

There was a fine line when it came to these climaxes in their teary wars and that was when Marco went from swaying to grinding. Jean could never pinpoint when it was, but it was always before either of their bodies were incredibly aroused. That thin line always happened before Marco picked up a squirming Jean, flipping him around and wrapping his bony legs around his waist, being sure to align their groins. As soon as he picked him up, he would hide his expression in the back of Jean’s t-shirt again, not allowing him a glance of his eyes, the things that Jean knew held what he was feeling every moment of his life. As soon as Jean went to comment, wanting to see Marco’s face, wanting to make sure he was enjoying this too, Marco would roll his hips, stopping Jean’s track of thought with a small moan. He could feel Marco smile into his shirt each time he let out a noise, but he could never tell which one was happy and which one was pained. If there was thing he was sure of though, it was that there was always a pleasured smile and a broken one.

He would whisper for Marco to stop, to tell him to look at him. Every time, Marco would cease, but he would never give Jean the privilege to see how he was feeling. Jean understood why, but that did not stop him from trying. As Marco used the time to walk to their used-to-be-shared bedroom, Jean’s shattered pleads twisting in his stomach, he would shake his head until Jean angrily reached back and yanked at his hair, catching the taller man’s breath in a halt. It was always enough to force him against a wall, finally giving into to other’s request and staring down at him with a furious glare.

Even if he looked angry, Jean felt pleased and let out a cocky smirk, one that he would wear before everything turned to shit. The simple mien filled Marco with hope, a beautiful beam coming to his own face as he looked down at his lover with caring eyes that spoke the things he could not say in words, using a hand that was not holding him up to run against his sharper than usual cheek bones and quickly realize his place. To notice how much smaller Jean was than before was like taking an arrow straight through to the heart and his eyes lit up with a vexed flame again, slamming the man’s wrists on the wall behind them, hissing in the most livid fashion he could perform, “ _Don’t_. You don’t have that right anymore.”

Jean’s facade would fall just for a moment, comprehension hitting him full force quickly enough, too, but it would be back up, swiftly enough, and he would bare his teeth in an almost growl, eyes lighting up as if this was a game. “What? Act like I’m your fucking boyfriend?” Jean easily broke his loose and over exaggerated grip and tugged on Marco’s hair once more, albeit a little more gently than before.

The man covered in freckles’ eyes shuttered closed momentarily, taking a second to pretend this was a different time, a different scene as he breathed out a groan. Jean’s eyes softened, jerking his hand again and watching his boyfriend come undone in front of him, listening for the next words to come, they always did. What they did was a record on repeat and Jean just wanted desperately to hear those precious words that filled him with glee again. 

_I love you._

“Sometimes I think you just _act_ like it.”

He could feel his anticipating smile drop, just as Marco opened his eyes to watch it happen. His pants were still happening and he observed his lover with hooded, honest eyes. Swallowing with no response, Jean quickly switched his mood to something of a different feeling. He could not feel the crushing ton of disappointment right now. He felt it every day, especially when he looked into the grinning face of Marco on his phone background. Wrenching his boyfriend’s hair, he snarled, trying desperately to hold back the tears in his eyes, the honey colored orbs that could not stand to look into Marco’s burnt whiskey ones. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say! _Say_ it!”

Marco jerked at the feeling of his hair between Jean’s fingers, gasping at the spark of pleasure it shot through him. He knew how injured Jean’s tone was and went to confront him on it, only to hear a whimpering gasp before there was another yank, then another. He fell to his knees, bringing the shorter male with him as he bit back a moan and watched Jean’s haughty looks became streaked with tears, pulls getting weaker as he instead pushed himself off the wall and into Marco’s lap, sobbing into his shoulders. 

“God, we’re so messed up.” Marco murmured, carding a hand through his hair. Jean nodded in response. “We have to stop fighting.”

Between hiccups, Jean leaned back to gaze at Marco’s mouth. “We… We’re not going to.”

“We can.”

“We _can’t_.”

“Jean-”

“No!” Jean interrupted with a yell, pushing at Marco’s chest. “You’re right! My paintings will never sell! I know I might be good, but I’m not lucky like you are! I can’t make this permanent and- I guess I need a _real job_ a, like you said. I have to pay the bills, painting will have to go on the backburner.”

Sighing, Marco pulled him closer again, long fingers brushing through his undercut, “We can work this out.”

It was all he could do to not break down along with Jean as he only shook his head and sniffled again in reply.

"We're stuck on repeat, baby, there's no fixing a broken record."  



End file.
